Wind In The Treetops.
And a cloud-dappled bit of blue sky
With a bird swift across it flight winging,
Are all I can see, as I lie
In my narrow white bed__but the wonder,
The glory, the beauty__are there,
And I feel like a bird in its aerie,
A prince of the kingdom of air.
Treetops, and wind in the treetops,
And moonshine, so mystic and pale,
That the eye of some star far above it
Peers soft through a gossamer veil;
And far down the shadowy distance
A sleepy bird chirps in its dream
'Til out 'neath the star-powdered heavens
Afloat on swift pinions I seem.
Out, out in the mist and the moonshine,
Out, out o'er the slumbering world,
On, on to the end of the darkness
Where the banners of dawn are unfurled;
'Til See, gleaming forth from night's window
One great red-gold lamp of the sky,
While along the gray east, serried cloud banks
Wind-routed, tumultuously fly.
"Treetops, and wind in the treetops!"
You say__and you pity me so__
Pity m__before whom such a pageant
E'er passes so grandly arid slow.
'Til I smile in my pain, and forgetting
The poor ailing body's control,
See treetops, and wind in the treetops
And myself an emancipate soul
__Louisa Cooke Don-Carlos